Why I’m grateful to be British

It’s at times like this, when I’m preparing for a trip home to England, that I’m most grateful for the fluke that meant I ended up being British. There’s a lot that people like to criticise about my home country but the one thing it does have is political stability.

I doubt it’s a benefit that ever crosses the minds of my compatriots back home but, living in this part of the world, I’ve learned that political stability is a blessing that not everyone can take for granted: as I pack for my trip, I don’t need to worry about the country dissolving into anarchy or being taken over by the military. I take it for granted that, give or take the odd political scandal, things will continue pretty much as usual while I’m there; that the biggest decisions I need to make are about what to take with me and which mobile phone operator to use while there.

Not so for an Egyptian friend of mine. We were sitting together last week as events in Cairo started to unfold. She was due to fly home for the summer with her two small children during the 48-hour period when the world waited to see whether or not the military was going to take over. “I’ve got till 4pm to decide whether or not to fly,” she told me, her distress clearly visible. Her family home is just outside Cairo. “I’m sure we’d be okay if we stay in the compound. It’s just getting there from the airport and then what happens next. What if there’s no hospitals, no doctors? What if we get stuck there?”

On the surface they look no different to anyone else – the rest of the world probably lumps them together with the stereotypical “Dubai expat” but, if you ask these people about what’s going on in their home countries, their anguish becomes apparent.

I have a friend from Syria. 70,000 people are said to have died in the conflict there so far. Usually a happy, easy-going guy, his whole demeanour changes when I ask him if he’s going home at all this year. “I have no country,” he says. “My country is finished. My town is destroyed.” His face sets hard; I can see he’s upset. I ask him what he’ll do, where he now considers home. He shrugs with a practised air of nonchalance. He’s used to braving it out; to taking things one day at a time. “I wait. I see. Who knows what will happen?”

For someone like me, whose biggest concern about home is whether or not Blighty’s good weather will last throughout July, it’s very sobering.

But it’s a chance, too, to teach our Western expat children how lucky they are. And I don’t just mean lucky in a materialistic expat brat way. Forget having a housemaid and a pool, this summer I’ll be showing my eight-year-old how lucky she is that – unlike some of her friends – she doesn’t have to spend the summer here because her home country’s been torn up by civil war.

Annabel Kantaria is a journalist who moved to Dubai long before most people knew where it was. She doesn’t ride a camel to work; has never seen a gold-plated golf buggy and only rarely has pink champagne for breakfast. Follow her on Twitter: @BellaKay